The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1887-11-17

ing things, all l care about is the
quality; whether they come from
Reading. or London, or America, does
not matter bit. BY the by. brother,
Mrs. Reece said Miss Dulcie liked those
biscuits made for her, and wants
more. I'll have whole lot done;
daresay mic ht get a little trade for
them."
"You've no soul, John, I do de-
clare!" said Will, with impatient dis
gust. "You think your little trade
the most important thing in the
world"
''lt is to me-it's my work."
"Now, if were in your place would
never let another creature taste those
biscuits that made for MISS Dulcie;
they are stamped with her approval
and no inferior person should have
them for love or money. It's q trihe,
OF course, but it shows how utterly
you lack poetry and sentiment, that
your only idea should be OF making O.
little trader
well. a great trade, them"
"Pooh! And if you did, would it
bring you any nearer Miss Dulcie?"
John didn't speak; but q sudden
wild idea flashed into his mind. Per-
feet madness it was, but it made his
heart beat and sent the color into his
face.
"Now for my part" went on Will,
calmly, 81 mean to be g. gentle man
a literary man can get into any So
ciety. l have got a. little thing COM
ing out in one of the magazines, and
mean to go up to London at once and
look about me-
We have all heard of the pride and
exultation with which a Young au-
thor receives his first proofs; but it
was not all the case with Will. He
took them quite calmly as a matter
OF course. 1t was the first thing he
had ever sent to a magazine, and he
never doubted for IL moment
that it would appear in
the next number-odly enough it
did. 1t happened to be short, just to
fit a spare corner, and just to tutn up
at the right time. But Will didn't al
low that. He simply counted the
lines, and thong ht he would write some
thing longer next time. Then he
should get more money.
He made a little mistake. as most
OF us know by bitter experience. All
he got was his old MS back, OF course.
But he went to London, and
frequented the British Museum where
he smelt the books, till his body
was as upset as his mind would have
been If he had read them. And though
the books in the reading-room enter
the brain chiefly by the nose, there are
other studies which 20 through the
eyes-studies of human nature.
The most interesting of these to I'm.
sophisticated Will was q sad looking
young lady, who spent great deal Of
time over the catalogue. She became
so depressed that sometimes she was
quite importantly, the great vol
umes are exhausting; and VIII grad
ually gave her more and more help
with her "studies.' She was a pale,
fragile girl, mostly dressed in pecul-
larly made gown OF dirty mustard col:
Or, which Will, who thought Miss
Dulcie's CT eerful muslins and hand
some silks. perfection, did not ad-
mire at first, though he learned
better in time.
But she had an enormous amount
OF "poetry in her souP' and sadness
in her heart, so he reverenced her as q
type OF the beautiful and artistic; and
as ne represented the literary and ar
tistic, what a whole they would make!
But this idea did not come for some
time. Only, when q child has been
crying for the moon, he will often be
satisfied with an orange.
1t is now ten years later, and Miss
Dulcie Sykes, now a lady OF the ma
ture age OF twenty-eight, is sitting in a
splendid drawing-room in Cromwell
Road, kensington. But these splendid
drawing.rooms are little better than
splendid prisons for many young la
dies. Dulcie had been sitting here for
the best part OF three days, for her
aunt wanted the carriage, and it was
mot proper for young lady to 90
out alone.
She was envying with all her heart
the middle class girls, who walking
along the causeway quite free, and
happily indifferent to ''soclety," when
she saw hanson pullup at the door,
and atine-looking man OF about thirty
five years get out. Some gentleman to
see her uncle, no doubt; but in a minute
or two the footman threw open the
drawing-room door and announced
"Mr. Goss!"
She came forward, and bowed, and
said she was sorry neither her uncle
nor aunt was at home; then stopped
perplexed. There was something odd
ly familiar about him.
'1'm AFRAID you don't remember me
Miss Duicie," he said; cts long time
since you were at Hepburn"
"Surely-surely, you are not John
Goss-I mean Mr.. Goss?" hastily COR
recting herself. He looked such a gen.
tleman!
He laughed pleasantly. II am glad
you remember me, Miss Dulcie."
"And I am elad-nay, deliehted-to
see you, Mr.. Goss. I am longing to
hear some news OF dear old Hepburn.
Since my father died I seem to have
been quite cut off from it; nv brother
is everybody, and what is all the
place like?"
"Well, l am sorry to say-at least,
OF course l am not exactly sorry
either-but the place is not nearly so
pretty as it used to be, and 1T is my
fault; but l really could not help it,
"You have an immense manufac-
tory, hear"
"Well, yes, it is a good size.
and l have had to build q good
many workmen's cottages; in TACT,
the place is quite q town.
Il hear that it is beautifully clean
and orderly town, too, and that you
do great deal Of good, Mr.. Goss,"
with a kindly smile.
She felt she had been a little hard
on him.
Good? Oh, dear! no, you are
quite mistaken! OF course, built the
schools, and the workmen's club, and
the cottage hospital; but they were
almost matters Of necessity"
He said it in all simplicity.
"Well, if you don't call that doing